Voices of the Opera
by Kore-of-Myth
Summary: When you walk through the Opera Garnier's doors, you are most likely to hear the sound of the Prima Donna's voice. But the opera has many other voices, those heard more easily then not...-A series of ten drabbles-
1. Midnight

**Midnight**

It's midnight at the Opera Garnier, and it's quiet, so very, very, quiet. The hustle and bustle that filled the rooms earlier that day is gone, quieted neither by the darkness of the night nor by the tolls of bells.

It's quiet at the Opera for all have left – mysteries of long ago have been abandoned for now. In years to come the mysteries will be opened again and searched through, pored over. Investigations will be made – formal and not – and records will be written, inspiring millions.

But for now the Opera is silent and is content with just that.

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_A/N: This is the first in a series of 10 drabbles, each exactly 100 words focusing on those who worked at the Opera Garnier and those who lived there. Unless otherwise noted, these drabbles are based on the Leroux novel._

_Reviews are the only payment a fanfic author receives._


	2. Cuckoo

**Cuckoo**

"Have you seen her?" Jammes whispered to Giry, blonde curls flying. "She's _cuckoo, _I tell you!"

Little Giry nodded, leaning closer, "All she does is hide in that dressing room, unless she's practicing with us – the new routines we've been set."

The two shook their heads. "And of course there is no lover – we would have known of course. So what or who is it? What is making Christine so odd?"

"Crazy Christine," one murmured and it began as a giggling chant.

Christine walked by, the walls entrancing her mind and thus heard nothing of the gossip of ballet rats.

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_Reviews are the only payment a fanfic author gets!_


	3. Burn

** Burn**

The image of that face was engraved into her mind. She could not close her eyes but see the Death's head burnt into her eyelids. She wanted to scream but couldn't, knowing he was there, and that was perhaps the worst of all.

For as much as she hated the image burnt into her mind, always there whenever she sang, Christine couldn't hate Erik for it nor find it in herself to hurt him. And since he was always there, always listening she couldn't react, couldn't express herself, but only could defend him.

Did this truly make her a demon?

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_A/N: For me, this is truly how Christine felt towards Erik - none of the all 'She secretly loved him' stuff. _

_Please leave a review!_


	4. Whitewash

**Whitewash**

The walls of the opera had become torn and worn – too much so. The managers Debienne and Poligny thought it unseemly for the grandness and magnificence that symbolized the Opera Garnier. It had to be taken care of.

A young boy, ten at most, had been hired amongst others to paint the walls of the lower levels a shining white. It was tiring work, but Nicholas had been offered good pay and so he worked. But he didn't paint long, for soon young Nicholas was dashing back up the twisting turning stairs shouting of a man with a death's mask.

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_A/N: Please leave a review!_


	5. Sunbathe

**Sunbathe**

Sorelli had thought she had it all – the role of Prima Ballerina in a successful theatre, devoted fans, and a beau who _wouldn't_ officially prove his love for her, but he did do so in ways that were enough.

"Come summer," he'd said. "We'll go to the beach. We'll sunbathe on the sand like ancient Mayans. Won't it be grand?"

But now everything had fallen – the opera 'cursed', patrons disappearing, Piangi dead. The theatre itself was ruined, and Sorelli (though never believing before in the Ghost) began to blame _him_ for everything, but most importantly, the death of her Philippe.

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_A/N: If only more people would ship Philippe/Sorelli! There was so much undertones for it - and would explain so much of Philippe's behaviour towards Raoul!_

_Thanks for the lovely reviews - I love to hear from you all!_


	6. Shed

**Shed**

Christine sniffled, not being able to help the tears she shed. She bit her hand to stifle the cries that wanted to escape her mouth, and the tears fell onto her finger. Some slipped into her mouth, but she didn't notice the bitter taste.

Why? Why did Papa have to leave her alone here? Yes there as Mamma Valerius who was so very kind but she was now here to sing without her dear Papa's fiddle and gentle guiding voice. Why did he have to die?

A shadow watched the Scandinavian girl in the darkness and plans began to form.

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	7. Balloons

**Balloon**

Cecile Jammes always told stories of her father. He never came to see her perform (he's too busy, she'd say) but he had such lovely adventures that the ballerinas felt as if they knew him.

They of course didn't know that Monsieur Jammes wasn't in fact a balloonist always off on adventures in Africa, India, and the Continent. They believed every word that Cecile said, no matter how fanciful or false it was (though how could they know?) Besides – they didn't need to know that though her father worked with balloons, all he did was sell them in the park.

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_A/N: For some reason I really like this one. Can't explain it really...Thanks for all your reviews, I'm glad that you're enjoying these Leroux-inspired drabbles!_


	8. Squeak

**Squeak**

A little mouse peeks its head from a hole in the foyer's wall. Though the mouse has been told not to venture outside, it still edges to the ledge.

Tonight there isn't the normality of people arriving. Instead there are people staying in the foyer, dressed in bright, so very bright colors – like the figure in red that walks by now. They dance and sway, swishing their grand clothes. The mouse longs to join them, but knows he can't being what he is.

The mouse squeaks and then falls silent, continuing to watch what he could never join, dance away.

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_A/N: Only a couple more - and then updates slow._

_Reviews are loved!_


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